


Stiles and Jackson

by Mandibles



Series: In which I try to cope with the Colton Thing [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Fluff, I suppose, I wrote this in my Microeconomics class, Jealousy, Like stupidly sweet, M/M, So there might be mistakes, With a bit of tart because Jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one really knows how it happened, how they went from Stiles and Jackson to <em>Stiles and Jackson</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles and Jackson

No one really knows how it happened, how they went from Stiles and Jackson to  _Stiles and Jackson_. Even Stiles himself is a little fuzzy on the details, though he’s pretty sure it had something to do with too pretty, too douche-y werewolves snapping their teeth under the full moon who still roll over and show off their tender belly when some dumbass spaz shoves them against a wall. It’s not one hundred percent, but Stiles is pretty sure that’s how things went down and how they’re still going if the new bruises and aches Stiles wakes up with are anything to go by.

But, around this time, Derek and Stiles becomes a thing, too. Sure, it’s definitely not on the same level as with that too pretty, too douche-y werewolf, but Stiles and Derek have formed this kind of truce, even a friendship. Because they’ve learned that, when they aren’t being huffy asses (which Stiles can wholeheartedly admit to, but Derek still growls in offence), they are actually a good team. A really good team, even. This is how Stiles finds himself being called pack, how he finds himself at their official unofficial pack meetings, more often than not co-leading it.

Jackson’s huffy little attitude should be a warning, but then he’s always a huffy little thing so it goes over Stiles’ head for the most part. That is until he walks into his bedroom after another Alpha pack discussion with Derek only to be slammed by a shit ton of asshole. Stiles hisses when his head hits the door, making his teeth, his heart, his world rattle.

“Son of a bitch!” His vision stops swimming. “Jackson, seriously what the fuck?”

He only receives a low growl in return, a mouth vibrating against his neck along with a bumping nose. Claws—shit,  _claws_ —dig into his arms, cutting through his hoodie. And, really? Is this a thing that they’re doing now?

Man, he’s such a  _pain_.

Stiles pushes at his chest; Jackson doesn’t budge. He just keeps snuffling at his throat, under his chin, and—ugh. “Get the fuck off, Jackson. I don’t have time for—”

“You smell like him.”

The words, breathed hotly with a tongue dragging against his skin, give Stiles pause.

“Who?”

Silence.

“Jackson, who?”

An irritated rumble. “You smell like Derek,” Jackson bemoans finally, quickly continuing to lap at the slight stubble along Stiles’ chin. “You smell like Derek, but you’re  _mine_.”

“I’m not yours,” Stiles intones, rolling his eyes when Jackson’s tongue freezes, when Jackson’s everything freezes. “If anything, you’re mine.” With the way Jackson bends over for him more often than not, how he ends up on his knees with an eager tongue, if they’re really bringing possession and shit into this, Stiles is pretty sure he’s got dibs. Stiles gasps when he’s shoved further against the door, when Jackson looks at him with those big, dumb blue eyes and whines. And, damn, that’s hella hot, but— “I can’t just  _avoid_  Derek, though. You can’t tell me who I can and can’t be around.”

Jackson actually looks disappointed by that, but nods. “Just let me scent you, then?”

“Scent me? How are you—” It clicks and Stiles laughs, repeats in a lower, bawdy tone, “How are you going to do that?”

Smirking deviously in return, Jackson licks his way into his mouth and Stiles finds himself returning the kiss with fervor, threading fingers through his hair.

This is the weird part of them, of  _Stiles and Jackson_. They’ve pretty much convinced everyone that it’s just sex, even convinced themselves, and things are simpler that way. But, then, moments like this happen, when they pull each other close and Stiles smiles into the kiss just because Jackson’s smiling, too, and it’s just so nice, you know? But, that’s also what makes it frightening.

Stiles breaks away for breath, their foreheads nudging, lips a hairsbreadth apart. “Is that all you need to do? Come on, I think I might’ve even hugged him today.”

It’s a lie, and he’s pretty sure Jackson can tell, but Jackson still flips them around and shoves Stiles towards the bed. The second the back of his knees hit the edge, Jackson is on him, pushing him down all the way, straddling him.

“You better not’ve hugged his dick, too,” Jackson hisses, his voice bubbling more with laughter than malice.

Stiles snorts. “Of course not. There’s only one dick I’m interested in.”

“Yeah?” Jackson tilts his head. God, he’s gorgeous, all blue eyes and plump lips and freckles freckles freckles. “Who’s?”

Stiles sticks out his tongue. “Mine.” He shields himself from Jackson’s swat, giggling. “And, yours too, I guess. It’s pretty cute.”

Jackson doesn’t even respond to that with words, only an enraged choking sound and pinching fingers. It stops, though, when Stiles lurches up for a kiss; Jackson turns into putty in an instant, bending down to meld their mouths together. And, right here, right now, Stiles can’t think of anything better than having this too pretty, too douche-y werewolf sprawled over him, all round him. It’s honestly the greatest thing on the planet and, linking their fingers together, he tells him just that.

Jackson grins broadly, cocks his head, and mewls, “Fuck you,” as he dives for another kiss.


End file.
